


Cold Like The Soil Under My Headstone

by Souliebird



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2016-03-24
Packaged: 2018-05-28 18:26:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6340402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Souliebird/pseuds/Souliebird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jason didn’t deserve a second chance, to be brought back from the dead.</p><p>He didn’t deserve to be alive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold Like The Soil Under My Headstone

Jason felt the anger swirling inside him, clouding his emotions and mind with a darkness that all but blinded him. It felt like someone had knotted his throat; he couldn't breath, and his fingers were shaking. He just wanted to open his mouth and scream, let everything that was building in him out, but he couldn't.

He just couldn't. 

Instead he stumbled to the bathroom, clutching at the gun in his hand. He slammed the door behind him, causing the dingy light bulb hanging from the ceiling to sway back and forth. He didn't bother to turn it on before falling back against the door and sliding down it to the floor. The tile was cold beneath his bare thighs, but Jason could care less.

He was always cold. Always.

Even when people told him he was like furnace, that he seemed to radiate heat, he always felt cold. Not the cold like a winter's day, with fresh snow and frost on the ground, no, the cold like the absence of warmth; like digging his fingers into the soil that was six feet under his headstone. There was no promise of light and peppermint in the cold he felt; only pain. 

It was such a contrast; he had died in fire, wishing the burning on his skin and in his lungs would stop, but now he'd give anything to feel that.

He'd give anything to feel something other than anger and emptiness. 

Sometimes other emotions would brush past him, making him think he could grab hold of them and pull them into himself, but they always escaped back into the darkness. And the darkness would laugh at him, the same laugh he let others believe was the last thing he heard before flames and smoke consumed him. The laugh that followed him around and haunted his nights and dreams. The laugh he could hear echoing around him in the empty bathroom.

The sound was temporarily drowned out by the soft patter of footsteps. Jason clenched his jaw, knowing the owner was purposefully making noise so as to not alarm him. He expected to hear his name in a soft questioning voice, or angry one demanding answers, but he got neither. Instead there was a slight rustle of movement, then the door creaked and Jason felt it move behind him, but not open. It felt like the person behind the door had sat on the floor on the otherside and had leaned back against it. 

Jason ground his teeth together and brought the muzzle of the gun up to his temple, pushing the metal against his skin. He didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve any of this. 

He didn't deserve a family who cared about him when Jason could barely manage tolerance of himself. He didn't deserve to be considered one of the good guys when he killed and maimed and hurt others, when he ruled over his domain with an iron fist. He didn't deserve someone who looked at him like he was the moon and stars when he constantly tore everyone who was around him down, trying to destroy them before they realized what he was. 

He didn't deserve a second chance, to be brought back from the dead.

He didn't deserve to be alive. 

Jason pushed the barrel closer, angling it so he knew he wouldn't survive the shot. He lowered his other hand down to the ground slightly behind him, trying to brace himself. He sensed something moving by his fingers, then all the air seemed to leave his lungs when something warm brushed over them. 

Jason slowly tilted his head to look over his shoulder, gun still digging into his temple, and saw two long pale fingers sticking out under the door, slowly moving over his own, like they were trying to grasp them, but they weren't close enough.

Hesitantly, Jason pushed his hand closer to the door and watched as the tip of the pinky sticking out from under the door curled around his own. Jason stared at the offending finger, barely able to see it through the street light filtering through the window. 

He didn't understand why. 

He didn't deserve this. 

Jason squeezed his eyes shut and rolled his head so he couldn't accidentally catch pale digits in his peripheral vision, his own finger one slight movement from taking away all the cold. 

He knew there would be nothingness in death, but it wasn't the kind that ate at his insides. It was nothing. 

He slowly pried his eyes open, focusing on where the wall molding met the floor. It was chipped, cracked, and possibly had water damage. Everything in Jason's life was broken and there was no use in trying to fix it because he would only break it again. 

Jason sat there, gaze trained on a triangle shaped chip in the paint of the wall, right index finger tense on the trigger of his gun, and a warm finger around his own until birds began to chirp outside and the sun started to shine onto his face. He heard car engines turn over on the street below him and the sounds of the world moving on around him, not caring his finger was flexing and twitching with want to end it all. 

He didn't deserve this. 

Jason pulled his hand away from the door, hating how the fingers let him, and slowly pushed himself into standing. He stood a moment, focusing on the crisp morning air around him, how the muzzle felt heavy against his skin, then let his arm drop to his side. The weapon slipped from his grip and clattered on the ground, and Jason refused to let his eyes dart to the source of the noise. Instead, he turned and pulled the door open. 

Tim was standing on the other side, a tired smile on his face and clad in nothing but the blanket from their bed draped around his shoulders. He held out his hand and Jason took it, watching in fascination as Tim's warm fingers laced between Jason's cold ones and gave them a soft squeeze. 

“Do you want some breakfast?” 

“Yeah...yeah...I'd like that.”

He didn't deserve Tim.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the song 'Stay With Me' by Sam Smith


End file.
